4.6.97

Bricks

You may have seen me tonight.

I know you were there. I was the guy, older than all of you but not looking it, sitting on my feet against the wall, drinking my Long Island, waiting for face to face to play, alone. You saw me. All of you. One by one, each of the hundreds of you caught my stare.

You each had different reasons for watching me. Some of you wondered who the hell I was, sitting all alone with that big drink. Some of you wondered who the weird guy in the corner with the long hair and the leather jacket was. One or two of you glanced at me over your boyfriends' shoulder. The more testosterone pumped of you glared at me, small that I am. But each of you saw me. Each, at one point or another, made eye contact.

There was one thing you all had in common. You could all see that something was very wrong with me. I wore that on my sleeve. You could see I was on the edge, that I was seriously considering doing something extreme. You didn't know what, but it made you nervous. The surface of my drink shook as I raised it to my lips. The angles of my jaw were a little too defined through my cheeks. My eyes were too narrow. My skin was too pale. You saw anger in me. You thought you saw violence.

You weren't too far off.

See, I've been in this mode lately. Something is going to, needs to happen. This concert was perfect timing. A face to face song has been rotating in my gray matter for two weeks now, "Don't say I'm OK, don't say I'm OK, I'm NOT OK.."

It's my bitter anthem. It's my life. People keep telling me at my bar, "You're OK, Warren. I like you."

Fuck you. I'm NOT OK, and you wouldn't like me if you knew me.

I felt old tonight. I walked into that bar, waiting to see one of my favorite bands for the first time ever, and realized quickly that I knew no one but the promoter. Used to be I'd walk into a good punk show and my name would be screamed from the rafters. Not anymore.

face to face took the stage and tore it up. I found a chair in the back of the club and stood on it so I could see. Something surged in my veins.
I thought about jumping in the pit. Been years since I did that. Realized I'd probably break a withered old bone in my body or, possibly, break a young tender one in some kid's. Ok, the pit's a bad idea.

So, the kids are stirring around in violent circles, fights are breaking out, bodies are flying off stage. Third song is the one. My skin tightens. Trevor screams the lyric "I don't care what you think of me, your opinion means nothing at all.." and it hits me. Fuckin' A right.
My bound demeanor blows open. I'm 30, I'm far beyond the pulse of youth that demands the power of music, but I begin to cry. Tears literally drip down my cheek. My face must be red as blood. When they hit the chorus I find myself shouting "I'M NOT OK! I'M NOT OK! I'M NOT FUCKIN' OK!" Some beautiful girl next to me backs away a step. She's frightened.

But, you know this. You saw me. You kept your distance. You remember me.

"I don't know what you want from me
But it's probably already gone.
I don't care what you think of me,
Your opinion means nothing at all..
Don't say I'm OK..
Don't say I'm OK
Don't say I'm OK
I'm not OK."

wwood